


The Memory of Vines

by littlemandragora



Series: The Dream of A Raven [2]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst and Feels, Blood Magic, Demonic pact?, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I really wish everyone a happy ending but idk, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Oneiromancy, Riddles, Sacrifice, Seiðr, Semi-Public Sex, Skellige - Freeform, Smut, Toussaint (The Witcher), do you believe, what is Destiny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemandragora/pseuds/littlemandragora
Summary: Do we understand the events that made usus? Do we understand why we do what we do? What damage and healing are we undergoing that might never be put in daylight, outside of our subliminal mind? Can we simply explain the “unexplainable” by Destiny? Or is there an active part for us to play?Dream diviners, the so-called oneiromancers, are no different in this regard. To dream what we wish to see, to read it and hope to change what is to come, to know the future, first we must know ourselves.Regis and Rana, having struggled with their own respective pasts, because of an old friend and an old thread, came back to their pasts and now learning how to come to terms with those memories.Sequel toDreams of Possibility. Post Witcher 2, but mostly involving B&W DLC.





	1. Words On Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daevlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daevlin/gifts).



> I gift this one to Daevlin, without whose comments there'd be no continuation at all:3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana left for a journey she must take, while Regis stayed to help more patients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of fluff I think? I'm sorry! But some expositions and foreshadowings are needed, after all, I am exploring memory and indentity and relationship in this fic. 
> 
> Also it's always fun to try to write from Regis' perspective <3 He's a sweet bun with the longest guilt trip he put himself through hehe I cannot
> 
> This is a revision (ha! A huge one, good call to dear Daevlin, who called me out on not opening the story where it's supposed to, so I rearranged and deleted 4 chapters before this T_T). Hope it's better now.

 

> _Some memories tear you apart, some stitch you up. However, the worst of it is not the pain of having the wound open, but the loneliness in the act itself. Memories ought to be shared._
> 
> _So are dreams._
> 
> _Well, most of them._
> 
> \--Jacob Typpetre Jr., _Our Dreams Rose Up Forever_   

 

Regis lost sleep again that night.

    He had pondered on what it could mean to live alone once more. He had thought about the initial sense of disarray, the temporary impression of getting lost, and maybe—if he dared himself to use the word—the intense feeling humans called “longing.” He thought he had prepared himself.

    They prepared themselves together, passionately and thoroughly; when Rana informed him her decision to sail for Skellige Isles, when she started packing, when she finished packing, before dawn broke, and once more in the pale light of morning, hastily against the bedroom door. He had tasted her, embraced her, filled her with his existence, and hoarded memories of her existence in him; to be his anchor, his kite master that would ground his thoughts when they stray far into the dark oblivion, anxiety, or his past.

    But what he still wasn’t prepared for, was this emptiness.

    Ironically, for him now time passed on more easily when the sun's out.

    Days were filled with customers seeking remedies for various diseases and patients groaning and moaning from their aching jaws and backs, a smashed toe from worksite, a stomachache for not eating enough, for eating too much… But when days were finished, the cool night air brought him more than just the familiar respite.

    After tidying up the shop from toady's work, he went upstairs and put logs in the hearth. He did it habitually and only realized afterwards: he needn’t the warmth, typical temperature changes meant to him no more than numerical values, but it seemed his body had already remembered something else quite different. The warmth was not meant for him, but he let it burn all the same.

    Then he saw her shadows by the fireplace, where she’d like to sit with a book and a cup of warm drink, most often made from chamomile and ginger, sometimes with a handful of dried bitter leaves, a common elven infusion for better focus. He liked watching the steam rise from the cup, filling the room with pleasant scents. He liked hearing her barely restrained, livid profanities when she found out in waiting for her drink to cool down enough for human ingestion, it had gone cold, which was forever the case. Even the memory of this made him shake his head in amusement.

 

***

 

Rana wasn’t the first human Regis had been with in the hundreds of years of his life, but she was the first he has lived with, jointly, in very, very close vicinity. He supposed he could even consider her “a member of his pack,” was he not aware of her opinions on using genitive case when it came to their relationship.

    After he had given Rana a ring and asked her for _marriage_ —something that’s not practiced in his own culture—there was a period of happiness that the novelty of such action had brought on, to both, it had seemed. Then the happiness waned and he noticed how she wriggled and flinched when being addressed by his surname, which again, wasn’t necessarily practiced in his culture, but it was a human custom he was ready to accept. It surprised him, and, though he never mentioned it or even wanted to recognize it, it was a small blow to his pride.

    In those early days of Regis' life, marked by constant revelries and stupors, as he now remembered with shame and remorse, he understood how easy it was for him to toy with human females and he used the knowledge. A glance, a meaningful grin, a bow with his head, a few compliments rolling off his tongue without effort was all it took to send the little mademoiselles with their heads spinning and follow him wherever he fancied to quench his thirst. Later, when he decided to settle among humans in Brugge, he never tried to establish anything more than casual with any people; he couldn’t afford it, didn’t know how.

    Still, Regis couldn't help but notice the way some matrons looked at him, the change of hue on their faces and the acceleration of their heartbeats when he felt their pulses or applied ointments by hand. It was an amusement, one that’s flattering to his self-esteem, as much as he did not want to admit. He did not understand why Rana behaved in contrary to his expectation. Yet he never asked the question that might humiliate both, or make her uncomfortable; the least he wanted to do was to make anyone feel uncomfortable. It was, he surmised, just another of one of those small things he should sweep under the carpet and pretend it never bothered him.

    Despite the dust underneath, he'd still much prefer there was a carpet because a carpet also covers up other things, things that are much more unpleasant than dusts.

    Like the bloodstains he never knew if he could ever hope to wash off: blood of irreverent people who were just living their lives until he came by; blood of thugs, as he told himself, of criminals who hurt those he held dear and deserved it; then, the blood of his friends, whom he failed to save.

    Which was why he came up with no riposte when Rana had simply informed him of her departure.

 _Was it not enough, knowing that they are well and good, living their lives in peace?_ He had asked. And she answered, curtly; he had nothing else to say, he understood. If there was a chance, if he wasn’t the _monster_ that not only failed his friends, but also failed to keep his resolute, his promise, his trustworthiness, his, _humanity_ , he would also grab onto the chance, any chance, just to see them again.

 

*** 

 

Regis walked around in the room for a bit, taking care of chores (yes, _taking care_ , he told himself), removing an empty jar left on the table, putting some misplaced books back to the shelf.

    He paused when he saw _The Last Wish_ , Dandelion's new addition to the world of Romance. The book had flat spine binding, with attached paper pane and a faded-red cloth cover. The crinkled page corners gave the impression of it being its owner's favorite for a long time. Except he knew it wasn't; it couldn't have been, for he only bought the book last week. For Rana. 

 

***

 

    “Another gift?”

    Rana drawled when Regis handed over her a new book. “Are you sure you are not bleeding out our savings too fast?” She said, but started examining the book without a second’s delay.

    Regis smiled as he flipped the business sign to “Closed” and bolted the door. The lights from the candelabra flickered with the tiny changing currents of breeze.

    “You will see why I got it when you open it.”

    Regis felt Rana’s suspicious gaze on him and gave back his signature reassuring look. He stopped himself from adding more comments—he wanted her to experience the joyous surprise as he did this afternoon, when he stopped by at the bookshop on his way back from a short trip gathering herbs. In truth, he was barely suppressing his anticipation and excitement.

    He watched as Rana opened the book and sucked in air audibly.

    “The Last Wish. By Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, alias Dandelion.” Rana’s voice gave him everything he had been expecting; and more. “Regis! Where… And how?”

    “Our friend, ‘the brightest star in the North's poetic firmament,’ has just added one more book under his name very recently.” He explained, “In fact, it was published just last month.”

    “Last month? That means… Oh, this is good news. Really good, Regis. I can’t remember when was the last time I’ve heard a news this good.” Her face was lit up by a genuine delight; it wasn't a sight Regis saw very often, so he was also genuinely delighted.

    Rana turned to the second page, scoffed softly and flipped through the first few pages.

    “I confess,” Regis said, now feeling it’s the right time to share a bit of his opinion. “I couldn’t resist the temptation and read through it already. I rather enjoyed the conversational tone. But knowing our dear friend, I wouldn't lend too much credence to the details. You’ll know which details once you’ve read them.”

    “Of course.” Rana laughed. “But first, tell me, since when was Dandelion an attendant to the Church of the Eternal Fire?”

    “He was not; not likely ever to be one. Why?”

    “This book was published by a Hierarch Press, naturally I thought it was associated with that church in Novigrad.”

    “Ah. The Hierarch in Hierarch Press had nothing to do with Hierarch Hemmelfart, at least, not directly. The founder of the press, Marcus Hodgson, named it after the location of his home, also his bookshop. Although I suspect that the survival of his shop—despite having some, ahem, quite _sensational_ collections, _picturesque_ —probably thanks to its owner’s flexibility and willingness of adapting to the Church’s order. Having a name that inspires if not the faith at least the image of its priests was one way of doing it.”

    He saw Rana nodded and flipped aother page with her finger forward then back again.

    She spoke, pensively at first, and very softly, as if she wasn’t sure if by simply saying it, hunches would indeed be real.

    “So Dandelion published—or someone published it for him—this through Hierarach Press, somewhere in Novigrad. Do you think he’s there? Do you think—Is it possible that Geralt... Maybe they are all in Novigrad?”

    “…I’m not sure.”

    “I want to meet them, Geralt and Dandelion. Especially Geralt. You understand, don't you, Regis? You must. You know I owe him an apology. You were there when he helped me, and when he needed help, I--”

    Rana fell silent, her hands went up and for a moment Regis saw her fingers pinching her throat, as if she was trying to fight back something lumped there, only for a moment, but long enough for him to capture the detail.

    “Remember that night after I just found—after we’ve just found each other, at Fen Carn. Can you recall the conversation we had? About destiny?” He said, after a while.

    “Yes.” Rana replied, her voice barely controlled. “What of it? I still don’t believe in _it_. I don’t believe that we can just sit here and wait for things to happen. They don’t even know you are still alive. And as far as Dandelion knows, I’m still living by the cemetery. Nobody knows anything about anyone.” She cursed, vigorously, he was almost taken aback. “I hate this! I hate not doing anything and having time to think what could have!”

    He walked up to her and held her gently. He thought she might push him back, but she didn’t. She rested her forehead against his neck and sighed. Deeply; resigned.

    “But it is exactly what I did. It's what I do. I always do... I don’t know anything that can help; not in this world. If only there is something I can do this time...”

    He didn't know what to say. 

    Being a Higher Vampire meant many things existed very differently for him. Time, for example.

    The humans he made acquaintances after his _rehabilitation_ , those he knew as youngsters now had grandchildren older than when they met him, those he knew already as grandparents now had wild grass growing over their graves; a few dynasty’s rises and falls meant to him merely half of his life’s passing. Though he lived among humans, he often forgot time: not minutes or hours, which he counted as utmost important with medical precision, but the general relentless flow of its essence. He always thought he had time for many things, including meeting with his old friends again; he was mostly right, only that his friends had much less time than he did.

    _As for the other thing that was so different_... 

    Regis felt the sense of guilt resisting his thoughts from going there, yet he charged on anyway—there’s no point in pretending what had happened didn’t; he murdered again, after promising himself not to, it mattered not whether it was for a “good” cause or for the dark power swelled up inside him with the scent of blood. He killed, killed and drank from them. And for that he felt shame. This shame now made him blanch at the thought of looking the witcher in the eyes again. He’s been walking around the reuion gingerly because of that.

    Deep down, he also wanted to see Geralt. He missed him, the long conversations they had and dreams they shared, of a different time and place, where “belong” was more than just a word.

 _Dreams.._. He thought. _What_ can _we really do? To search? How? Where and—_

    He paused his wandering and stroked her hair.

    “You know, thereissomething you could try. If you wish, perhaps even tonight. Results are not guaranteed, but it is an option.”

    Rana pushed off a little bit and looked up.

     “What? You mean—”

    “Dream it, yes. I know we’ve talked about this, but now you have a better understanding of the subject, as a result of your little library built around oneiromancy, maybe you can enter sleep lucidly? And there’s material to help with the dream subject.” He gestured towards the book.

    “I’ve never tried, how do we know—”

    “Precisely. You’ve never tried. We won’t know until you do.” He put a hand around her shoulder. “I will stay awake to screen you. If it turns to be a nightmare, I will wake you up.”

    She turned down her gaze.

    “No, don’t wake me up. No matter what happens. If I manage to dream anything, I need to see it all.”

 

***

 

Regis had to wake Rana up from the dream after all. She was only shifting slightly at first, then it suddenly became a terrible thrashing-about; he worried that she could have hurt her head against the bed posts. And when she woke, she didn’t say much of her dream. He learned the thrashing-about wasn’t because of anyone they knew and rested on that.

    The next day, Rana received a letter from the Nifgaardian enchantress Fringilla Vigo, apparently about some “smiths of destiny,” who, by his understanding, worked as seers in Skellige, where Rana decided to pay a visit to and investigate. Her ship should have arrived yesterday, if everything went alright.

    He had proposed to go with her, concerned for her safety, but she said she needed other forms of supports and that he could give his corporeal support to his patients instead, which, with the rising number of refugees as a result of the Third War, also amplified. Of course, he could not find excuses to not do so. All said and done, he was a doctor, the title of a barber-surgeon only resulted from his precaution against the risk of exposing his identity by enrolling in Oxenfurt.

 

***

 

Rana was, in ways expected and unexpected, a surprise to his life. A breeze of change, maybe even another transformation, given time.

    Regis noticed his mood had lifted considerably after they settled in Brugge. His anxiety and fear regarding a relapse decreased, and he found out, in spite of—or maybe because of—Rana’s unconventional _comportments_ as a “wife,” like how she insisted on cutting her hair short instead of coiffed or tied above her head, as was custom for married women, nor did she ever cover it with coif. It seemed to him, that “ _a shrewd untamed_ ” situation, as a male patient once whispered to him behind Rana’s back, have endeared him somewhat to the townspeople. He was absolutely dumbfounded when he realized that some husbands now looked at him with solidarity. And just yesterday he was invited, albeit discreetly, to join some gentlemen’s “night stroll” in a house of pleasure after they heard Rana was traveling. He almost choked on surprise upon receiving the invitation. While he managed to decline it with an unfazed attitude, he had silently praised the fact that vampires don’t blush as humans do.

    Humans never cease to amaze him, in good ways and bad. But, _oh well_ , it wasn’t like he planned to interfere with how others carried on with their lives. _Except maybe one_ …

    After Rana left for Skellige, Regis reflected more and more on Dettlaff’s whereabouts.

    Having a bloodbond with another vampire meant that even your deepest fear and desire would be detected by your counterpart, considering their longevity, and the fact that a bond can only be broken by one of them dying, it would seem like tying the strings of your fate forever, literally, so even his parents—

    Well, actually, did they? Regis would like to think they did: they had him, after all. But he never got a chance to find out. His parents left him with Dettlaff’s branch and sailed for the west before he could remember, and Dettlaff's family had a tradition of not overstepping into other people's lives, which, in Dettlaff's case was all puff and smoke. Regis couldn't count how many times Dettlaff ventured out for others' sakes. 

   But all in all, that was why only when dead certain about the connection would two higher vampires perform the ritual of exchanging blood. In Regis’ case, the giver and the recipient was each independent from the other role, so it wasn’t a mutual bond, that meant only he can sense the changes in Dettlaff’s deep thoughts and emotions, and not the other way around.

    When Regis left for Fen Carn two years ago, he all but begged Dettlaff to stay in Nazair and wait for his return to search for Dettlaff's human lover Rhena together. Not only because it might be easier, but also because Regis had a theory he didn’t have the heart to share with Dettlaff, who overlooked ( _purposefully or not_ ) the simultaneous disappearance of Rhena’s belongings. To Regis' mind, Rhena left on her own terms, and should Dettlaff found out about that, or eventually realize it himself, he wanted to be there for him.

    But Dettlaff was not to be found anywhere when he finally arrived in Nazair with Rana. They searched all places possible, even went as far as Metinna, where Dettlaff had first met his lover.

    Regis would probably have kept on searching, if not for Rana. Rana was a mortal, all’s said and done, and she deserved a little rest before _the inevitable_. But Dettlaff remained in his blood as much as in the back of his mind; he had a feeling that there would come a time when Dettlaff would call out to him, then he would answer his call, despite everything. So far, Dettlaff had been quiet. His thoughts and feelings emitted clear signals like that of a recluse’s. To Regis’ solace, he sensed peace from Dettlaff, if only somewhat contrived and resigned. But it was peace nonetheless. He can live with that knowledge, knowing Dettlaff was living in peace somewhere in this world was enough for him; unlike Rana, he had time, he could wait.

 

***

 

Regis bolted the door to the balcony and closed the window. Below, somewhere—probably in the gutters along the streets—came the hissing and growling of cats, fighting for scraps of food or territories; or maybe both.

    Regis never had a cat, but he imagined it would somehow be fairly similar to having Rana living with him.

    Rana didn’t always want to be noticed, nor did she want to notice him all the time, especially when she’d buried herself in some old books and papers. But her presence was felt through every slight vibrations in the air.

    Her presence was sensed no matter if she was downstairs, in the storage room next door with a new book that required all her focus, if she’s muttering words to herself while shuffling through pages, if she’s too engrossed in the words and what they conjured up in her mind and not making a single sound for hours. Her presence was signaled by her soft breathing, by the almost inaudible tempo of her heart, which rested in her chest that rose and fell with each breath, which, in turn, caused the faint ruffles of her dress. When it’s late he would hear her yawning; the inhaling, the slight creak in her jaw, sometimes ending in a messy and wet slurp that would make him chuckle. He could also sense her, he recalled a little awkwardly, also by the somewhat outlandish smell of her blood. The act itself was a constant reminder of their difference. And sometimes, when she wanted to impress him, she would walk around redolent with the scents of cedarwood and lavender.  

    The scents this room was currently deprived of. Without the scent, the irregular noises, the laughter and complains, the room had shed its skin of a _home_ , became once more, just another structure inside which he bided his time.  

 

***

 

When the first chunk of log turned to a charred piece of ember, Regis didn’t bother to add another one. He watched as the red glow smoldered on doggedly, refusing to let go. He put his hand into the subsiding fire and took it out. Because he wasn’t meticulous enough, when his fingers gripped around the burnt wood, it crushed and crumbled. In his palm, tiny sparks of red and orange lay among warm ashes. Then they were gone.

    He closed his palm carefully, moved his hand under the smoke vent and discarded the ash onto the remaining fire. The fire whooshed feebly for a second and died down again. He sighed.

    He moved to sit in front of the writing desk, a candlelight was kindled, waited by his side for the sky to brighten.

    On the writing desk was a crystal ball: his small consolation. It would communicate and show images projected by its partner, another crystal ball which was now sitting on a bed, inside one of in the biggest tavern in Kaer Trolde, the famed port city on the island of Ard Skellig.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I put crystal balls in there, but I did not forget Regis cannot be detected by any magical divination;)
> 
> I developed a few headcanon as I wrote and read fics. _"Dettlaff and Regis basically grew up together"_ (ah it makes me so fluffy just by typing it out) was especially influenced by [Magpie ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500572) by a_sparrows_fall. (It's a beautiful fic, 110% would recommend, I'm not even a true D&R shipper and I loved it). I also think higher vampires tend to have more "complex" relationships due to their social structure and extremely long lifespan, so huehuehue I might use that as well


	2. [Author’s Note]Timeline Cheatsheet

THIS IS ONLY A timeline cheatsheet for me and whoever saw this:3 Chapters are under construction

By no means is this a required-reading, but it might help to get rid of the confusion without having to go through the previous fic.

> (no there's no really important spoiler unless you haven't played the games)
> 
> In 1267, Rana happened upon Zoltan Chivay's band and consequently started travel with Geralt. Around the time of reaching Fen Carn, she got sick, was treated by Regis at his summer cottage. The next day, Regis joined the company. The company arrived in Toussaint around mid-late October and stayed until some time after Yule. During this time, Regis had a relationship with a succubus called Natanis. He and Rana also became physically involved after Samhain, and the two developed an informal relationship. 
> 
> In 1268 Jan., all hanse members left for Stygga besides Dandelion and Rana. Rana left after Feb. for Fen Carn, while Geralt and Ciri arrive in Toussaint in time of Dandelion's "execution" in around late spring. Geralt "died" in Sept.
> 
>   
>  In 1269 spring, Regis met Rana at Fen Carn, the two set off for Nazair. Passed by at Toussaint in late summer, learned that "Viscount Julian" had left with a witcher and a girl last year. In early autumn, they arrived at Nazair, but found no Dettlaff, only indications that he already went on searching by himself. They stayed for a while searching for both in Nazair, then in Metinna, no results. 
> 
> Regis refused to stay in the south and both returned to his shop in Dillingen in 1270, settled down in late winter. Upon this point, they have not learned that Geralt was "dead;" only knew Dandelion was still composing ballads somewhere.
> 
>   
>  In 1271, April, Foltest of Termeria was assassinated, gossip of a witcher "kingslayer" started to spread.  
>  In July, Geralt and Iorveth headed for Loc Muinne, Dandelion stayed in Vergen, Aedirn.  
>  In August, the Third Northern War began, Most of the northern kingdoms fell, later on, as a vassal state of (the former) Termeria, Brugge, led by Venzlav, appealed for amnesty and became a province of Nifgaard.  
>  In September, Dandelion traveled to Novigrad to receive his inheritance. 
> 
> In 1272, The Wild Hunt took place.
> 
> In May, Geralt was contacted by Yennefer while he and Vesemir was on the trail. Some time (likely the month before) prior to this, Ciri returned from Cyberpunk 2077 world with Avallac'h and ended up in Skellige. When a fight between them and the Red Riders ensued, she teleported away to Velen and spent a few days in Crow's Perch, then headed to Novigrad to enlist Dandelion's help. Ciri teleported to Skellige again while the Temple Guards attacked, Dandelion was taken a prisoner.  
>  The Wild Hunt sensed Ciri's presence on Hindarsfjall the same day she dropped in, rode for her, and the village of Lofoten was then destroyed by the riders.
> 
> In 1273, Of Flesh and Flame took place, Geralt and Dandelion went to Ofir, with Geralt under the name of "Lambert." No tales of them reached Rana or Regis.
> 
>   
>  W: game canon timeline divergence:
> 
>   
>  In 1274, Regis sensed Dettlaff in predicament and Geralt was summoned to Toussaint for a royal contract.


End file.
